Echo
by A. Windsor
Summary: A Pirate Children oneshot. Mal and Serra on Shadow, five times.


Title: Echo

Rating: G and fluuuuuuuffy

Characters: Mal and Serra, with brief appearances by Inara, Abram, and Aristaeus Westgate.

Pairings: Ermm, a little M/I and Serra/Ari

Summary: A Pirate Children oneshot, set across the time period between Mei-Mei and Tough.

Author's Note: Getting the Mal and Serra cuteness out of the way so I can focus on Kacey for my Christmas story and also giving Mal and Serra a little resolution that many felt were lacking at the end of Tough

For newbies: Brother, Shadow, Mei-Mei, Mischief, Pirate Children, Hell-Raising, Tough, Echo(?)

* * *

Cold beer in one hand, the other supporting the Mei-Mei's rump, her head resting on his shoulder, Mal settles back onto one of whitewashed rocking chairs with a sigh. The ruckus of the family gathering inside fades to a dull roar, the warm breeze off the river brushing his face. His two-month-old daughter snuggles further into his shoulder, tiny fists grabbing onto his navy shirt as she emits a yawn that seems too large for her small size. He chuckles, brushing a soft kiss across the smattering of dark hair on her crown and then taking a swig of his brew.

He likes it here, for a brief respite between rougher jobs at least. Permanent settlement? No, he's not up for that. Certainly not yet.

Mal sets down his beer and holds out little Serra. She meets his blue eyes with a pair of eyes that are already losing their newborn blue in favor of her mother's brown. She's very alert for her age, focusing on him momentarily before searching her surroundings for something more interesting. Mal bounces her a little, then returns her to his shoulder as she yawns again.

"Alright, Mei-Mei," he smiles, rubbing her back through the soft cotton of her T-shirt and patting her diapered bottom. "Get your snooze in."

And, for what he is sure will be one of the few times in her life, she seems obey, her dark eyes drooping closed in sleep. He drops another kiss against the baby soft skin of her temple and leans his head against the back of chair to catch a few z's himself. The sun is beginning to set and the bugs and frogs are waking up, singing to help the sun finish her descent to the horizon. Mal soon joins his daughter in slumber.

The sun has begun to dip below the horizon when a gentle hand on his forehead wakes him.

"Good morning," a soft whisper teases him.

"Hey, darlin'," he greets his wife with a smile. She has Abram on her hip, his head against her shoulder, which is no small feat; the five-year-old has started to get too heavy to be carried, especially by his mother. "Feelin' any better, Bubba?"

Abe shakes his head against Inara's shoulder, brown eyes red from crying and glassy with fever.

"I'm sorry, little man," he says quietly as Inara settles into the chair beside him, wrapping her arms around Abe in her lap. "His fever goin' down?"

"A little," she informs him with a tired smile. "Simon says it's just a virus. We have to wait it out."

"Well, Uncle Simon's no help, now is he?"

Abe smiles a little and nods.

"His throat still hurts," Inara explains their son's silence, stroking his dark waves as she rocks them both. "Try to sleep a little, baby. You'll feel better when you wake up."

Abe sniffles and nods, snuggling in tighter to hide the slight tears pooling. Inara sings soft strands of Abe's favorite lullaby, just above a whisper in his ear. Abe's sniffles calm and his breathing evens out in sleep.

As if on cue, Serra whimpers awake, then proceeds to bawl. Mal chuckles and Inara sighs.

"Like clockwork."

Mal shrugs teasingly. "Girl likes her food. I'll trade ya."

"Well, unless you've found a way to feed her, I guess I have no choice," Inara plays right back, putting a hand over Abe's exposed ear. "I'll just put him on the bed and wash my hands. The last thing we need is for her to be sick, too."

"Alright. I'll distract her. Be quick; she's got your lungs on her."

Inara gives him the look that means she doesn't find him very amusing, but he knows that isn't true so just smiles in response, rocking the wailing Serra.

"Don't worry, baby-mine," Mal says soothingly, "Mama'll be back soon. Just gotta put your Bubba to bed."

Serra quiets a little, continuing to whimper but ceasing the ear-piercing wailing of earlier.

"There's a girl," Mal praises, standing and bouncing her. "Just be a little patient, 'kay?"

Inara returns soon and slips Serra into her arms, where the girl loses her patience and begins to bawl again. Mal kisses their daughter's head and then Inara's lips, gently.

"Yep, definitely your lungs."

* * *

She comes crying to him on the front porch, eyes wide and filled with tears, lips pouting. Mama would be her first choice, but he's more than acceptable in a pinch. Her hand is pressed into her chin, and when she removes it, it's covered in blood.

"Mei-Mei, what happened?" he asks, scooping the three-year-old up and removing a handkerchief from his pocket. He presses the kerchief to the scrape on her chin and cuddles her close. Eight years of being a parent has taught him how to handle the occasional bumps and scratches.

"Rock hit me," she whimpers, taking a shuddering breath as her crying slows.

"Well, what a mean ol' rock," Mal says, reaching in his pocket for a bandage. _Aiya,_ so gorramn domesticated. "You wouldn't happen to've been runnin' about all crazy-like when this rock jumped up and hit ya, huh?"

Serra sniffles and nods.

"Hmm, what did we learn from for this?"

"Rocks are bad?"

_Aiya_, if she doesn't look just like her mama when she says that, all wide-eyed and faux-innocent-like. He presses the adhesive bandage to her chin once the blood slows.

"All better, Mei-Mei."

"Thanks, Daddy." She puts a wet kiss on his cheek and then squirms to be let down.

"Alright, get out o' here, baby-mine. No more rocks, _dong ma_?"

* * *

Eleven years old. Nothing but wild curls and knobby knees from a growth spurt that still leaves her as the shortest thing on the ship. Running, playing with her cousins, tackling her sixteen-year-old brother to the ground. She's tough; she lost most of what "little girl"ness she had long ago, preferring space ships and the fencing foil to tea parties and dolls. (She agrees to the former girly-ness only when her mama is serving. And if there's sugar involved.)

Smart as a whip, and well read, too, though she'll never let you know it. She likes sparring with her brother, both verbally and physically. Preferably both at the same time. She's undyingly loyal to ship and crew and often sports bruises and small cuts earned in defending _Serenity_'s honor with her fists.

She lets out a war cry as she leaps from the top of the dock house, a shower of older and younger cousins following her as they break the water for the first time this visit. Fearless, his little girl, too fearless sometimes. And, apparently, a pickpocket. He's still trying to figure out where that came from.

"Daddy, aren't you gonna jump?"

Always 'aren't', never ain't. Mama and Ally'd have her hide if the word ever slipped from her lips.

"Naw, Mei-Mei. I'm too old."

"Mama said she'd jump if you did."

"Well now, that is a different story."

* * *

She's beautiful, his little girl. Her mother's frame, but wrapped in soft cottons and walking barefoot over the salt-worn boards of the dock, the sea breeze filling her dark curls, kissing her high cheeks and long lashes. Sixteen now, shorter than her mother but with all of her curves. Grown, physically and almost mentally.

She's different on Shadow than she is in the Black or on Sihnon, or even on any other Rim worlds. In the Black, she's in her element, a spark of fire in endless dark, full of life and energy, waiting to be harnessed. On Sihnon, she's absolutely charming, an oddity to be shown off by her family, the girl who looks like the consummate lady and acts like the consummate spacer. On the Rim worlds, doing business, she's hard and tough, a scrabbler, able to take and give hard knocks, to run with the crowd, to acknowledge the hell life can put you through. She hasn't been sheltered from that, the life they lead. But on Shadow…

On Shadow, she is _calm_, content. The serene nature of her cousins' home tames her beasts, just as she and her brother and her mother all tame his.

The wind gusts, flapping her loose skirt around her. A nonchalant hand reaches to calm the cloth, to save everyone else's modesty, for she has little of her own. She makes it to the end of the dock, closes her eyes to the rush of wind in her face, to smell of the salt marsh that drives every other smell away.

This isn't the predominant Serra, nor maybe even the "real" Serra. She's Serra the most in the Black, in the Rim spaceports, dressed like her Aunt Zoe, gun on her hip. Not here, knee length skirt and simple halter top, simple Bellerophon pearls (a gift from her Sihnonese grandmother) dripping from her ears. They're the one luxury she really allows herself, and only wears them on special occasions. Apparently, today is one. He knows why, just wishes he didn't.

"Hello, Captain Reynolds," someone interrupts him, a young man's voice at his shoulder.

"Ari," Mal nods to sixteen-year-old Aristaeus Westgate, the special occasion.

Ari holds out his hand respectfully, asking, "How are you today, sir? A safe trip?"

"Fine," Mal answers gruffly, shaking the boy's hand.

_Renci de Fozu_, Mal wishes he could hate this kid's guts. Wishes he was one of those hooligan young boys with no sense of decency and respect for their elders. But he's not. Ari's no angel, no socially-awkward, can-never-touch-a-girl type, but he is an overall _good kid._ Hardworking, respectful, streetwise. Always "yes, sir", "yes, ma'am", always a charming smile, not a sleazy one. He grew up with the Reynolds-Stokes clan and now works on the plantation to help pay the bills at home, a mile down the river, when he's not in school. He is very hard to hate.

However, Ari does have a tendency for getting caught playing tonsil-hockey with Mal's daughter, which means the father has every right to _strongly dislike_ the teenager.

But Mal meets respect with respect, so he meets Ari's eyes and asks after his family, his studies. Looking for a reason to forbid his daughter to see this boy. Which would result in him being shot and then recovering in very cold, empty passenger dorms, because there would be no way Inara would let him into their shuttle if he was that stupid. But it would still be nice to have a foundation for his strong dislike other than the boy's raging hormones. And he can't blame those very much, because Serra certainly has enough raging hormones of her own.

Ari answers his questions considerately and thoroughly, but his eyes drift often to the dock, to Mal's daughter still relishing the river, her toes dipped in the water. Finally, Mal sucks it up and releases Ari with an overly-friendly slap to the back.

Ari hurries quietly down the walkway, sneaking up behind Serra and surprising her. Serra's face lights up in a way she used to save only for her family, and she throws her arms around his neck, smiling into his shoulder as they embrace.

"Get away from there, you lecherous old man," his wife admonishes, playfully, sneaking up on him.

Mal jumps, caught, and turns to Inara.

"Let her have her reunion. She doesn't get to see him very often."

"Thank God."

* * *

She's been slowed by Saffron's bullet, but, of course, she's still holding court among her cousins, filling their heads with wild tales of derring-do. Her arm's recovered from its injuries fully, but the belly's still healing. She can't walk long or far, but when she does walk, it's with all her usual swagger. Ari's at her side, occasionally worrying over her and getting evil looks for it. Mal must admit that makes him a little happy.

They'll rest here for a while, let Laney, who's approaching ninety and just now slowing down, fuss over her and help her recover fully.

He misses his little girl; she's been distant from him for almost two years now, trying to stretch her wings but not wanting to leave the nest. After the Saffron incident, they're making strides, but he still has no idea just what happened in that Alliance prison, nor does she seems to eager to share. They still fight, but a little less often, a little less painfully. With her a captive audience confined to bed-rest on his couch, he explained his reasoning behind kicking her off the boat. Reluctantly, she revealed her own for leaving.

Abe insists that they're the same person at different stages of life, and Mal can't help but be scared by that. He doesn't want his baby girl to have to go through everything he went through just to find a piece of happiness, just to carve out her own little piece of stability. He doesn't want this prison to become her Valley; he doesn't want her to have a Valley at all.

"Hey, old man."

"Hey, baby-mine."

She's slowly made her way over to him, hand reaching for his forearm as she staggers a little as she gets to him. He catches her, slips her arm through his own. She's left Ari back with the cousins and come alone.

"How about a walk on the dock?"

"Can you make it?"

"Daddy…"

"Serra…

"I can make it," she sighs, not annoyed but resigned to his worry. "I'll sit when we get out there."

Mal nods, helps guide her down to the dock, where she leans against the railing, taking in the warm salt air. The breeze coming in off the ocean down river catches her curls, reveals a serene expression. This calm is good for her.

"What about that sittin'?"

"I'm good," Serra answers over her shoulder.

They stand in silence for a few minutes.

"I'm only hard on you 'cause she's gonna be yours one day."

He doesn't have to explain who or what 'she' is.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. You see yourself in me and you don't want me to make the same mistakes. I get it. Not fond of it, but I get it."

"Your mistakes should be your own, baby-mine."

"They will be," she smiles serenely at him.

"You drunk?"

"No, Daddy. Just… kinda happy. For the first time in a long time."

"An' why is that?"

Her brown eyes slide over to meet his. "'Cause it's been a week since we last screamed at each other."

She's a woman now; he can see that, though he'd much rather think of her as that tiny little girl who'd tug on his coat and ask to be carried.

"I probably don't say it enough for real, but I do love you, Serra. More than anything other'n your mama and Bubba. And I am proud of you, no matter how hard I am on you."

She just smiles at him; her serenity is going to drive him mad.

"You've always been my hero, Daddy."

* * *

el fin 


End file.
